


Getaway

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Spike kidnaps Buffy. Hijinks ensue. Follows "Normal Again."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).

The hiss of hydraulics as the doors swished shut and the bus geared up to leave sounded Spike's cue to turn away. He couldn't take watching it go. Watching it carry her out of his life.

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears, holding at bay the image of her leaving, and leaned on the hood of his car. "Buffy," he whispered. Then, "Fuck!" He wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand, balled it into a fist and slammed it against the hood. "Stupid ... sodding ... buggering ... stubborn ... bloody ..." With each word he pounded the car, again and again, until his hand bled. He reared back to kick it instead. "Bitch!" he finished, leaving a boot-shaped dent in the fender. He stumbled back, but regrouped to kick it again. Then he froze, leg in mid-air. He thought he could feel --

"You wanna say that to my face?"

Spike lost his balance as he spun to face her and fell against the car. He recovered and pulled himself together -- half sitting, half leaning against the hood, staring at her like she was a mirage.

Her eyes dropped to his damaged hand. "God, Spike." She took it and examined it. "What the hell did you do that for?"

He stood up and jerked his hand away. "Missed your bus," he said, shoving both hands in his pockets with a wince.

Buffy looked back to where the bus had been, and shrugged. She turned back to him. "Guess you'll have to take me home."

It took everything Spike had not to run to the passenger side and open the door for her, not to sigh with relief and smile and be grateful that she was still willing to have him in her life ... not to hope that this time, things really had changed between them. He wanted to do all of that, make no mistake; but he wouldn't. Not this time. This time, he knew better.

He stood his ground. "Why should I?"

Buffy rolled her eyes skyward, as if she might find the answer in the swarm of bugs buzzing around the lampost behind him. "How about, because you're the one who brought me here, and you're responsible for getting me home?"

"I paid your bus fare," Spike said. "I did my part. This was supposed to be goodbye. You want me to take you home? Then tell me." He stepped close to her -- too close. He could smell her, smell himself on her, could feel the hum and thrum of life coursing through her. It made her that much harder to resist. His eyes bored into hers as he carefully enunciated each word. "Why ... should ... I?"

Her bottom lip trembled, ever so slightly, and she looked away.

The knife twisted in his gut. He wished he could die from the wound, and to do it before the temptation to throttle her overwhelmed him. Why the hell couldn't she have just stayed on the bus? Then they could both be getting on with their lives.

He didn't die. He didn't throttle her. Instead he brushed past her, towards the bus depot.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To get you a new ticket."

"Spike --"

He stopped. There was a hitch of desperation in her voice, a pleading that, despite his best judgment, made him think maybe. Just maybe. One more try wouldn't kill him.

Without looking back at her, he said, "Say it, Buffy. For God's sake, just spit it out." He meant the words to sound harsh, but he was too weary. "If you want me to stay, love ... you know the magic words. Say them, and we can both go home."

He waited. He imagined that the silence that met him must be what it's like in that moment, after the stake pierces your heart, when you dissolve out of this world into nothing. Only this hurt a hell of a lot more. He wished she would just stake him and be done with it. It'd be so much kinder than this.

When the silence from her became too thunderous, he continued toward the station. He said nothing. If she couldn't speak the words he needed to hear, then there was nothing more to say.

He wanted to hate her. He tried to remember what that felt like. It seemed so long ago. It'd make this all so much easier, if he could just go back to that, return to what he was before. Before her, before the chip. But as he reached the ticket line, he knew he had only himself to blame. He should've just pulled up stakes and left Sunnydale, nice and quiet-like, instead of dragging her into this, setting them both up for such a painful goodbye.

He should have known it would all end like this.

***

 

Two nights earlier ...

Dawn bounded down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Bye, Buffy!"

"Wait!" Buffy jumped up from the sofa and intercepted her sister at the front door. "You know the drill, right? Don't go anywhere after dark unless Janice's parents drive you there. And don't trust Janice's judgment in boys."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I know."

"You also know I'll be calling her parents to make sure you're really there."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be there. And you can lay off the über-mom schtick. I mean, just because you tried to kill me doesn't mean you have to smother me with parental concern."

Buffy pressed her lips together and looked at the floor.

Dawn sighed. "I didn't mean --"

"No." Buffy tried to keep her voice relaxed. "It's okay. I ... I have it coming."

"No you don't," Dawn said. "You weren't yourself. I know that. I do."

Buffy made herself look Dawn in the eye. She looked earnest, but she also looked so wounded, still. "Doesn't really make it hurt any less, does it?"

Dawn looked away. "It ... It'll be okay. We just ..." She sighed. "This weekend's probably a good thing for us, huh?"

"Yeah."

Dawn looked back at Buffy. "Have fun this weekend, okay?"

"Sure," Buffy said. "Big fun in store. Willow's gone on a retreat with her support group, Xander's off looking for Anya, and Tara ... well, I don't really feel right calling her up, seeing as how I almost put her in traction."

"Tara also knows you couldn't help it, Buffy."

"Yeah." She forced herself to sound cheerful. "But don't worry. This'll give me a chance to catch up on sleep. Sleep is of the good."

"Right." Dawn looked doubful, but then shrugged. "Well, however you spend it, just ... try to relax, and enjoy yourself. And don't worry about me."

"That's going to happen." Buffy opened the door and made a "get out" gesture with her head. "Have fun with Janice. And I promise not to be psycho with the phone calls."

"See ya." Dawn pecked her on the cheek, and left.

Buffy shut the door behind her, then turned around and slumped against it. She'd meant it about the sleep. She had the Doublemeat breakfast shift in the morning, so she really should go to bed; but it would still be nice if she had an option to do something else. It depressed her to realize just how little of a life she really had these days. She felt lonely. For just the briefest moment she let herself entertain the thought of going to see Spike, before banishing it from her head. No matter how innocent her intentions, he was bound to take it the wrong way. The last thing she needed was to see that aching, hopeful look in his eyes.

A knot formed in her stomach as she remembered the last thing he'd said to her. "Either you tell your friends about us, or I will." Nevermind that there was no longer an "us" to tell them about. Or that they hadn't been much of an us to begin with. She supposed that was one good thing about her friends all being out of commission -- she didn't have to worry that they'd talk to Spike.

A knock on the door broke her reverie and she groaned. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He had the most ironic sense of timing. Buffy straightened up and opened the door. "You can't come in."

Spike looked startled by the statement. Keeping a wary eye on her, he stepped a toe across the threshold. When it passed over, he stepped inside, looming over her with a mix of relief and self-satisfaction on his face. "Looks like I can."

Buffy planted a hand on his chest and shoved him back out the door. "I mean it. I'm going to bed. Directly to bed, without passing go. Or collecting any vampires," she added as his eyes drifted up the stairs towards her bedroom.

He looked her up and down. "You're back to your old charming self again, I see."

She crossed her arms defensively and gave a little shrug. "More or less."

"I was hoping for more. You recovered enough for some Slayer action?"

"I told you, I'm--"

"Going to bed. Right. You should. You look bone tired."

"Thanks." Her tone was sarcastic, but she frowned down at her pink elephant pajama-bottoms and ran a self-conscious hand through her sofa-flattened hair.

"Right, then. I s'pose Warren's hideout'll still be there after you've had your rest. Sleep tight, Love." He leaned in and grabbed the door handle and started to pull it shut.

Buffy yanked it back open. "What do you mean, Warren's hideout? You found him?"

"I spotted that van of his. Followed it to a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. I didn't stay to snoop around. Figured I'd leave that part to you. Them being human, not much I could do if they caught me."

"Right," Buffy said.

Spike pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "I've got my car. Figured I could run you out there, have a quick look-see. But like I said, it can wait."

"No," Buffy said. "I've already waited too long for this. Just give me a minute to go put some shoes on."

"Sure, Pet. I've got all night."

Buffy left him standing at the door while she ran upstairs. She did more than just put on shoes. She changed into something less nap-on-the-couch-worthy and more slay worthy. She'd already touched up her face and was smoothing out her hair before she remembered that she wasn't supposed to care what Spike thought of how she looked. She grabbed a scrunchy and pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail to hide any evidence that she'd spent time on it. One last look in the mirror showed that she looked decent enough without looking like she tried. Which was really a stupid illusion to go for, considering Spike had just seen her looking all ratty and would know better. She frowned. Maybe she should change back.

"Oi, Slayer!" He hollered up the stairs. "We haven't got all night!"

Buffy stuck her head out the door. "But you just said that we did!"

"Figure of speech. Now come on!"

Buffy sighed and grabbed her bag, then headed downstairs. Spike hovered just outside the door, having a smoke on the porch. He dropped his cigarette and ground it under his boot as she reached him, then turned to her.

"Shall we?"

He offered his arm. Buffy resisted the impulse to take it. After a beat, he nodded and started for his car. She followed him, and held her tongue when he opened the passenger door for her. She'd come to learn that such small gallantries were just in his nature and it was better not to imbue them with greater meaning. Or to make a big deal about it when they did mean more.

They drove in silence, for which Buffy was grateful. He was always so eager to talk, and no matter how much she tried to deflect, their conversations always came back to the same thing. Still, even she could only stand the quiet for so long. "Are we there yet?"

"What is this, a trip to Disneyland? No, we're not there yet."

"We've been driving for twenty minutes. How far out of town is this place?"

"Um ... pretty far." Spike gave her a sidelong glance. "Another ten minutes, at least."

Something in his tone told her not to believe him. God, he was such a lousy liar. "Spike, where are you taking me?"

"I told you, Pet. Farmhouse, outskirts of town. Warren's hideout. We'll be there soon, just keep your shirt on." He gave her an appreciative glance. "That last part's optional, o' course."

"Spike."

"Yeh?"

"We're heading down the coast. There are no farmhouses along the coast."

"Oh. Ah ... bugger. Must've gotten turned around."

Buffy sighed. "Okay. What the hell is this?"

"This? This is, well, it's ..." He looked over at her, then rolled his eyes. "Okay, you got me. Consider yourself kidnapped."

"Again?"

"What, again? I've never kidnapped you before."

"No? What do you call last year, with Drusilla?"

"Desperation. And you came to my place of your own free will."

"Whatever," Buffy said. "Just stop the car."

"No."

"Spike, I'm not kidding. Stop the car."

"I think you fail to see the principle behind the whole kidnapping concept, Love."

"Stop the car right now, and don't call me Love."

"Look," Spike said. "Here's the deal. You are going on holiday, whether you like it or not. You're going to get the hell away from your life for a while. Away from bills, your job, social services, away from Red's co-dependency and Harris's fear of commitment, away from the whole hero bit. No responsibilities. Just you, me, and the open road. How 'bout it, Slayer?"

"I have to work in the morning," Buffy said. "I can't do this. Dawn --"

"Is staying with a friend all weekend and will be just fine without you."

"Spike, no. I can't just leave like this. Take me home."

"See, that's the beauty of it. You don't get a choice. You're the victim in this, hence you're absolved of all responsibilities and consequences of your absence."

"Oh, my God," Buffy said. "You really put a lot of thought into this, didn't you? How long have you been planning this?"

"Not that long."

"Do you have any idea how messed up this is?"

"Yeh," Spike said, "I do. Just don't care." He looked at her. "Evil, remember?"

Buffy took a deep breath, then calmly said, "Spike, I'm going to give you one more chance before I cause you severe pain. Turn the car around, and take me home."

Spike chuckled and shook his head. "What part of 'you've been kidnapped' don't you understand, Pet? Look, I'll make it real simple for you." He reached into the back seat and rummaged through the trash that littered the bench. "You can sit back, relax, try to enjoy the ride, and -- God forbid -- maybe have a little fun and get some fucking perspective about your life. Or..." He bit his lip in concentration as he lifted off the seat, bending further over the back and reaching into the floorboards.

"Or?" Buffy prompted.

"Give us a sec'." He must've found what he was looking for, because his face lit up with satisfaction. "Or," he continued, producing an all too familiar looking toy, "you can go nighty-night and spend the rest of the trip in the trunk." He pushed the button on the cattle prod and made the electric currents crackle for emphasis.

Buffy's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

He zapped the air between them again. "Try me."

"You psychotic son of a bitch. You're insane, you know that?"

"Only because you drive me there. What's it gonna be, pet?"

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later. Now answer my question."

Buffy just looked at him for a long, hard moment. Then she snatched the cattle prod out of his hand and tossed it out the open window. Spike stared at his empty hand in disbelief as Buffy turned back to him. "First pit stop, I am so gonna kick your ass for that."

Spike nodded, and put his hand back on the steering wheel. "Fair enough." He fought the smile that tugged at his mouth.

Buffy crossed her arms and slumped in her seat. She looked out the window so he wouldn't see her fighting one of her own.

***

The first pit stop occurred just before they reached the Interstate. The car's tank was almost empty, and Buffy's bladder was full. "So," Spike said as he pulled up to the pump, "you wanna kick my ass now, or after I fill up the car?"

"Too many people around," Buffy said. "Guess it'll have to wait. Besides, I have to pee." She started to open the car door, but stopped. "You want to come in with me? Keep watch, make sure I don't call home or try to slip somebody a 'Help, I've been kidnapped' note?"

Spike considered this, then waved his hand. "Nah. You won't do that."

"What makes you so sure?"

He held up his pinkie. "One, there's no one at home to call. And two," he raised his ring finger to join it, "you don't want to be rescued." He smirked at her, then got out of the car.

Buffy stared after him a moment in amazement. So, he was right on both counts. Did he have to be so damned smug about it? She got out of the car and headed inside. How did he know she'd be alone this weekend, anyway? Probably because he made it his business to know these things. Did it really matter how he found out? She was probably better off not knowing. Inside the store, she turned back to look at him. He had one hand on the nozzle, while the other one worked his lighter, igniting the cigarette that dangled from his lips, heedless of the "No smoking or open flame near pumps" sign posted right behind him.

That's my Spike.

She frowned at the thought. He wasn't her Spike. He wasn't her anything. Not anymore. She shook her head and headed to the ladies' room. After finishing up and washing her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. So then, what the hell was she doing here? They were obviously still something to each other. She knew what she was to him. He made that clear every chance he got, and it never changed. No matter how she treated him. But what was he to her? Sex wrapped in leather, an orgasm waiting to happen? Wasn't he more than that? It would be so easy sometimes to let him be. Whatever else he was to her, could she rightfully call him a friend after everything they'd been through together? Everything she'd put him through?

You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver ...

"But you'll never be friends," Buffy finished the thought aloud. She sighed, and dried her hands.

She came out of the bathroom just as he was coming in the store. As he entered, a middle-aged guy in a ponytail "tsked" at Spike's cigarette and pointed at the no smoking signs. Spike looked at him, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and blew smoke in the man's face. As Ponytail coughed and sputtered a stream of indignant curses, Spike put the fag back in his mouth and sauntered over to Buffy, his body language daring anyone else to try and make him put it out.

"Rude much?" Buffy asked as he reached her.

"Tell me about it. People these days don't know how to mind their own sodding business."

"I meant you."

He looked genuinely surprised. "What? It's not like I vamped out and threatened to eat the tosser."

Buffy considered this, and decided he had a point. You hang with the soulless undead, you have to pick your battles. This was an offense she could let slide.

He pointed at what was fast becoming an armload of toiletries as they made their way down the aisle. "What's all this, then?"

"Stuff I'm gonna need." She reached for a tube of deodorant. "It's not like you gave me a chance to pack a bag. I don't know what I'm going to do for clothes this weekend. At least if these get all stinky, you don't have to inhale."

Spike got distracted by a Frito-Lay display stand at the end of the aisle and went to load up on chips. "Don't worry about that," he said as he inspected a bag of Funyuns. "Everything you need's out in the car." He held up the bag. "You like these, Pet?"

Buffy stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. "You packed me a bag?"

"Oh, no. The Bit --" His eyes widened, and she could see him trying to backpeddle. "Um, that is, the bint" -- his enunciation lingered on the 'n' -- "Harmony, see. She left some of that stuff in my crypt, and I knew you'd be needing it, so I brought it along." He nodded for emphasis.

Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust as she dumped her items on a shelf. "I can not believe that Dawn was in on this."

"No, no she wasn't. She had nothing to do with this. It was all my idea."

"She is so grounded when I get home." Buffy balled her fists and rested them on her hips. "What did you say to her to get her to go along with this?"

"I didn't --" Spike stopped, and sighed. "Don't suppose I can plead the Fifth?"

"No, that copout's strictly for living, American criminals." She crossed her arms and waited.

"Fine." Spike put down the chips and moved closer so he could lower his voice. "Apparently when you went on your little rampage the other day, you said something to Dawn about us."

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God."

"Not in so many words." He managed to sound wounded and irritated even as he tried to reassure her. "But enough to let her put two and two together. And believe it or not, she's okay with it. Has this silly notion that you and me could actually be good for each other."

"She's young. What does she know?"

Spike pointed, as if Dawn were standing off in the corner of the store. "She knows enough to think that it'll be good for you to get away for a few days. And I happen to agree with her."

Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "Are you telling me that she masterminded this whole thing?"

Spike folded his arms. "I'm not telling you anything. And you didn't hear any of this from me."

"Whatever." Buffy pushed past him and grabbed a bag of Doritos off of the display. "Let's just go while I'm still insane enough to agree with both of you."


	2. Chapter 2

A 44 oz. Coca-Cola didn't keep her from getting sleepy. The back seat was too cluttered for her to stretch out there, so instead she curled up in the front, using his balled up duster for a pillow. She could've used his lap. He wouldn't have protested. Still, she used his coat. It was a start.

 

He reached down and brushed her hair out of her face. In the moonlight it gleamed almost as white as his. He missed the way it used to cascade over her bare shoulders, but even so, her chopping it off hadn't made her any less beautiful. Of course he didn't tell her, out of fear that she might go and shave her head. He tried to imagine her with the Sinead O'Connor look, and smiled. Still gorgeous.

 

His finger lightly traced a pattern along her upper arm. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips, and Spike rested his hand on her shoulder. He was crossing a line. He'd broken the unspoken "look but don't touch" rule, and he knew it. Now ask him if he cared. Not even Buffy could be so unreasonable as to expect him to be near her for this long without touching her. Couldn't be done. Her skin drew him like a magnet. He could only resist its pull for so long.

 

She stirred beneath his hand, then whimpered. Her breathing grew rapid. Here it comes. With a great gasp for air her head jerked up, and her hand shot out and gripped his knee like a vice.

 

"Shh, Buffy." He rubbed her arm, tried to draw her to him. "It's okay, Love. It was only a dream."

 

For an instant, she relaxed against him, but then she sat up and pulled away to her side of the car. Spike sighed, and put both hands on the wheel. He hated her nightmares as much as she did, if only because it killed him that she wouldn't let him comfort her. It was always the same. She'd awaken in terror, and for the tiniest moment, she'd let him hold her, let him soothe her fear. Then she'd remember who they were -- or what they were -- and pull away. This was usually the part where she'd get dressed and go home. Except this time, she had nowhere to go.

 

He glanced over at her. She huddled against the door, her head part way out the window, looking up at the stars and letting the night wind blow through her hair.

 

"You okay?"

 

She shrugged. "I hate that dream."

 

"Yeh. Me too."

 

She looked at him, her eyes asking him to elaborate.

 

"I still dream about waking up in my coffin sometimes."

 

"Great." Buffy sighed, and looked back out at the passing desert. "It never goes away."

 

"No." God, he wanted to hold her. Instead he reached down and punched the car's lighter in to heat up. "But the good news is, it stops being so terrifying. Eventually."

 

"How long is 'eventually'?"

 

"In my case? About twenty years."

 

"Swell. Something to look forward to."

 

He unfurled his coat until he found the pocket that held his cigarettes, then dug them out. "We've still got a few hours until sunrise. Then we'll find some place to hole up for the day and you can get a proper rest."

 

"Sounds like a plan." She sounded a bit more cheerful. "Hey, where'd the music go?"

 

"Radio stations out here are worthless." He pointed to the back seat. "Should be a crate full of CDs back there, and a player. Car kit's in the glove box."

 

Buffy turned around and leaned over the back of the seat. As he lit his cigarette, Spike stole a long glance at her rear end waving in the air while she rummaged through his things. "Here we go," she said. "Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Ramones, The Clash, more Ramones ... God!" She turned back around and slumped in the seat, disgusted. "What the hell ever made you think we'd be compatible?"

 

Spike laughed. "Believe me, pet, if there's one thing makes me doubt you're the girl for me, it's your taste in music."

 

"There's nothing wrong with my taste in music. Just because it's not older than I am ..."

 

"Feh. The trouble with your generation's music is there's nothing new."

 

"That's not true."

 

"Yes it is. Everything you hear these days is a throwback to a bygone era, no matter how much they try to spice it up and call it 'modern rock.' It's all been done before. At least the blokes I listen to were innovative."

 

"Right." Buffy nodded seriously. "You should know, as often as you listen to the crazy noise the kids like to make these days."

 

He gave her a sidelong glare, then shook his head. "I do go to the Bronze, y'know. I know whereof I speak. 'Sides, it's all become so bloody homogeonized, nobody stands out. I mean, pick any subset of the genre. One band sounds exactly the same as the next. P.O.D., Linkin Park ... who the hell can tell the bloody difference?"

 

"And meanwhile the Clash and the Ramones sound nothing alike."

 

Spike suppressed a smile. The girl made sarcasm an art. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was being sincere. But he knew the difference. He pointed his cigarette at her. "You watch your mouth, missy."

 

"Fine." Buffy sighed, and leaned her head against the door. He was losing her. They were becoming fewer and farther in between, but she still had these little episodes sometimes, where she'd slip inside herself for a while and nothing in the outside world could penetrate. Spike had become pretty good at recognizing when she was about to take one of her mental holidays and calling her back before she was too far gone.

 

"We don't have to listen to anything, y'know," he said. "We could always talk."

 

Buffy blinked, coming back to reality. She looked at him, and fear crossed her face. Then she brightened. "Hey! How 'bout some of those Sex Pistols?" She started to climb over the seat again.

 

Spike put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Why don't you want to talk?"

 

Buffy pulled her arm away from him. "Because I don't want to talk about ... what you want to talk about."

 

He refrained from rolling his eyes as he flicked some ash out the window. "I just meant a ruddy conversation, Pet. About anything you want. Doesn't have to be about us."

 

"Just a conversation?"

 

"Yeah. Like we were just having not one minute ago."

 

She considered this, then shrugged and relaxed. "Okay, fine."

 

"Fine."

 

"What do you want to talk about?"

 

"You pick."

 

"I don't know. You go first."

 

"Bloody hell, Slayer!" He threw his cigarette out the window for want of anything more substantial to throw. Gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands, he looked over at her. "Why do you always have to do this?"

 

She looked surprised. "Do what?"

 

"Make everything about a billion times more complicated than it has to be!"

 

Now she looked defensive. "I thought we weren't gonna talk about us!"

 

"I'm not talking 'bout us, pet. I'm talking about you."

 

"I don't want to talk about me," she said. "I'd rather talk about you."

 

Spike sighed. "Right. Fine. What about me, then?"

 

"How many people do you suppose you've killed?"

 

Okay. Not what he expected. He looked at her again. "What?"

 

She didn't sound upset, or disgusted, or terribly put-off. She kept it casual. "I mean, I figure one person a day from the time you got vamped until you got your chip is a pretty conservative estimate, but even then that's like ... a whole lotta people."

 

"Forty-three thousand, give or take. And you're right. It was a lot more than that. Your point?"

 

"No point. Just ... tens of thousands of people dead. Because of you." Her face clouded over, and there was something in her voice he couldn't quite make out. "Sometimes I forget that."

 

Shit. What brought this on? They were getting along too well, he supposed. Starting to make some forward progress, so she had to knock them back a few steps. This time he was determined to keep his footing.

 

"'Course," he pointed out, "since meeting you I've helped avert three apocalypses. Not to mention all the demons I've killed since I got chipped, and last summer playing superhero with the Justice League. So that's billions of lives saved thanks to yours truly. Kinda balances out, don't it?"

 

Buffy shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."

 

"No. Because that would be too simple. So, how does it work? Please. Enlighten me."

 

She sighed. "Are you sorry for the people you killed?"

 

"Will my being sorry bring them back?"

 

"No."

 

"Right. Sorry's a waste of time."

 

"No it's not!" She made a little frustrated groan. "You just don't get it, and I can't explain it to you. But the only reason you're not still killing people is the chip. If it stopped working tomorrow ..."

 

"What?"

 

She looked at the road straight ahead. "You know what."

 

"No, I don't. But I guess I don't need to, do I? 'Cause you're bloody well certain enough for both of us."

 

Buffy looked back at him. "Look, I don't believe you'd turn on us. You've come that far, and if there's one good thing I can say about your character it's that you're loyal."

 

"Oh, thanks ever so."

 

"But are you telling me you wouldn't sink your fangs into the first non-friend-of-Buffy human you see?"

 

Spike considered this, then looked at her. Looked her in the eye. "No. What I'm telling you, Slayer, is that I don't know what I'd do."

 

Buffy just looked at him, her bottom lip pouting just a little, her eyes disbelieving but hopeful all at the same time.

 

He looked back at the road, and sighed. "I tried it once."

 

"What? When?"

 

"When I found out I could hit you, without any pain. I thought the chip quit working. So I hunted."

 

"You're not exactly disproving my point, here." Did she sound disappointed?

 

"I found this girl," Spike continued, determined to get the story out. If she was going to judge him, she might as well know it all. "Young. Tender. Alone and scared. I could smell the fear coming off of her from clear across the street." He smiled a little at the memory. "God, it was delicious. So, I cornered her, and tried to bite her. That's how I found out the chip still works."

 

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. "Why are you telling me this?"

 

"Because I didn't bite her."

 

"Because of the chip."

 

"Right, yes. But also because as much as I wanted to, I also didn't want to."

 

"Huh?" She looked at him again, confused.

 

"I had to talk myself into it." He wasn't smiling now. His voice trembled a little, but he pressed on. "Had to remind myself that I'm evil and this was what I was made for. And all the while ... All the while I kept wondering what her family would do when she didn't come home. How they'd feel when they found her dead body. If they'd hurt as much as I did when you --" He glanced at her and cleared his throat.

 

"But you still tried to bite her," she said quietly.

 

"Yeh. But aside from the rush, there wasn't any joy in it. Not like there used to be. And I still don't know if ... if I'd've drained her dry or stopped before I did any real harm." He glanced at her, and gave her a rueful smile. "So honestly? Chip stopped working? I haven't a clue what I'd do."

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Buffy processed it all. Then she leaned back against the seat and sighed. "I hope we never have to find out." She looked at him. "For both our sakes."

 

Spike held her gaze for a moment. "Yeh. Me too. So." He looked back at the road and smiled. "Your turn."

 

"Who huh?"

 

"I just shared a secret. Now it's your turn. Spill."

 

She raised an eyebrow. "What is this, truth or dare?"

 

He smiled slyly. "It could be."

 

"In that case, I'll take the dare."

 

"Right then. Next car we pass, show 'em your bum."

 

She gaped at him. "You can't be serious."

 

"As a heart attack." He pointed up ahead. "Here comes one now. Better get ready."

 

"You want me to moon somebody?"

 

"It's that or answer my question."

 

"Fine. What's your question?"

 

"Ah, ah, ah. That's not how it works, Love. You pick first, and you already picked. Better hurry, we're about to pass this car."

 

Buffy just glared at him.

 

"'Course, we don't have to play if it's too much for you."

 

Buffy continued to glare at him, but she started undoing her pants. Spike grinned. "Atta girl."

 

Spike changed lanes and pulled up alongside an open-air Jeep. It was full of people, hard to make out in the dark, even under the full moon. Buffy, her eyes still shooting stakes at Spike, climbed up in the seat, stuck her rear-end out the window, and lowered her knickers. Hoots and hollers came from the Jeep. Buffy closed her eyes. "Oh, God!" She pulled up her pants and dropped down in the seat, hiding her face from the other vehicle. "Go!"

 

Spike laughed as he sped up and went around the Jeep. Buffy hazarded a glance back at them, then shook her head. "I can't believe I just did that."

 

"Neither can I." Spike couldn't stop laughing. "I never thought you'd go through with it. Color me impressed."

 

"Color me embarrassed," she muttered.

 

"Oh, relax. Believe me, Pet, your bum is nothing to be ashamed of."

 

"Thanks, I guess." She pouted. "Maybe next time you can wave your bony white ass at them instead."

 

Spike glanced in the rearview mirror, then nodded. "Take the wheel." He let go of the steering wheel and started undoing his belt buckle.

 

"What? No! No taking the wheel!" She reached over to slap his hands. "Stop that!"

 

"Fine!" He gave it up and went back to steering the car. They sat for a moment in silence, then they both burst into laughter.

 

"So, did you see the looks on their faces?" Buffy asked.

 

Spike shook his head. "Too dark. Yours was pretty priceless, though."

 

"God, what if there were kids in the car?"

 

"Then you probably traumatized them for life. They'll spend years in therapy trying to forget about the blurry bare ass that was inflicted on them. Poor children."

 

"Shut up." Buffy put a hand over her eyes and shook her head, though a grin remained on her face. "I've never done anything like that before."

 

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" He smirked at her. "Guess I'm a bad influence on you, Slayer."

 

"Yeah." She looked sideways at him, and smiled. "You really are."

 

His smirk melted into a genuine smile as he held her gaze for a moment. The mood was broken by a set of extraordinarily bright headlights coming up behind them a bit too fast for comfort. The Jeep was right on them, practically riding his bumper.

 

"Bollocks!"

 

Buffy turned in her seat to look at them. "What do you think they want?"

 

"I dunno. Maybe you really did scare their kids. Put your seatbelt on."

 

Buffy looked around, then shook her head. "Does this antique even have seatbelts?"

 

Spike rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. "Then, brace yourself and hang on." Just as he was about to slam on his brakes, the Jeep switched lanes. "Um, nevermind." It sped past them, then got back in front. "No, on second thought --" The Jeep slammed on its brakes, forcing Spike to do the same. He swerved off of the road, just barely missing them. They spun and skidded to a stop in the sand, ending up about twenty feet from the road, facing the highway. "Brilliant," Spike muttered. He looked over at Buffy. "Are you okay?"

 

She looked shaken, but unharmed. She nodded, then looked at the Jeep. "Okay, what the hell was that? People have mooned me before, it never made me want to go all Fast and the Furious on them."

 

"Yeh, well, that's 'cause you're mostly in your right mind," he said as several figures unloaded from the Jeep and started towards them. "Something tells me these pillocks can't say the same. Right then. If it's a tussle they want ..." He looked at Buffy, and grinned. "They picked the right car, didn't they?"

 

Buffy just looked at him. "I'm not fighting. I'm on enforced holiday, remember?"

 

"I think we might not have a choice, Love."

 

"Oh, I've got a choice all right. It was your idea to pull that stunt back there. Why should I stop them if they want to kick your ass?"

 

Spike stared at her. "You know, Slayer, I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that when the chips are down, I've got you to watch my back."

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's do this."

***

The five shadowy figures formed a semi-circle in front of the car, just out of reach of the headlights. Buffy opened the car door and got out. Spike followed her lead, pulling on his duster as he stalked towards the front of the car. He tried to look menacing. She tried to look apologetic. "Hey, look. We were just playing around back there. We really didn't mean to offend --"

 

"Oh, we weren't offended," a deep voice said. The voice's owner took a step forward, and she could make out a pair of snakeskin boots poking out from beneath leather chaps. The light illuminated his giant belt buckle. "Roy" was engraved across it in big letters. "My posse and I enjoyed the show. Thought we'd catch an encore."

 

Buffy took a second to glare at Spike. He rolled his eyes and started patting his pockets. Great. He was going to smoke. Again. Was that his answer for everything? "Sorry." She looked back at Roy. "That was an exclusive, one-time engagement. But thanks for your interest."

 

"Come on, don't be that way," he said. "Show us a nice piece of white meat like that, you can't let us go away hungry." He stepped all the way into the light, revealing his vampiric features.

 

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Buffy muttered. She held up her hands. "Look, guys. I'm on vacation. What do you say we all just get back in our cars and forget we ever saw each other?"

 

"Right. That's gonna happen." Roy grinned as his "posse" moved into the light. They were all dressed similar to Roy, like they'd just come from some kind of vampire rodeo. Buffy squinted at their faces, half expecting to see Lyle Gorch among them.

 

With a sigh, she reached for her stake, but it wasn't there. She'd left it in the car. She looked back up at Roy. "Um ..."

 

"Slayer!"

 

She looked at Spike just in time to see a stake flying at her head. She reached up and plucked it out of the air. "Thanks!"

 

The others all took a step back. Roy's grin faltered, but then it widened. "I've always wanted to try on a Slayer."

 

"I'll bet you have," said Spike. He threw a punch that landed square on Roy's nose, knocking him back a couple steps. Roy recovered and spun around, aiming a kick at Spike's midsection. Wonderful. Roy knew how to fight. Well, so did Spike. Buffy decided to leave them to each other for the moment and turned her attention to the other four. She made the decision a split-second too late. One grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms -- and her stake -- behind her. Two more rushed her, while the fourth hung back and watched the action with a deer-in-headlights look plastered on his face.

 

Buffy slammed her head into the face of the one holding her. He hollered in pain, but loosened his grip only enough to allow her some maneuverability. As the other two reached her, she kicked her foot up and planted it on one's shoulder. Using it as leverage she swung her other leg up and kicked the second vamp in the face. Her momentum carried her up and over Number Three's head. She held on to his arms as she went, and heard his screams of pain mixed with the satisfying pop of his shoulders as she wrenched them out of their sockets. Her feet hit the hood of the car and she was free. She reached down and grabbed Number Three by the hair, yanked him back onto the car, and dropped to one knee beside him, plunging the stake into his heart.

 

Before she could straighten up, Number Two grabbed her by the arm and flipped her off of the car. She landed badly, her left ankle giving out as it hit the ground. Still, she rebounded and brought that foot up, kicking Number One in the side of the head. She yelped as the impact sent pain shooting through her leg and foot. She didn't lose any momentum, though, and finished the spin, bringing the stake home right through Number One's tacky fringed leather vest.

 

Number Four looked like he was finally working up the nerve to join in. Buffy took a step towards him and stumbled. A pair of arms caught her from behind, then lifted her in the air and body slammed her onto the hood of Spike's car, knocking the wind out of her.

 

"Buffy!"

She looked over at Spike just in time to see fear become rage. He stopped screwing around and vamped out, really laying into Roy. She just lay there for a second, trying to recover, watching Spike fight the other vampire from the vantage point of hanging her head backwards off of the car. It looked like some kind of upside down ballet. Or professional wrestling match. Roy got him in a headlock. Spike responded by sinking his teeth into Roy's forearm. He elbowed Roy in the gut and broke free, then pulled out a stake.

 

Just as it was getting good, Buffy felt a hand tangle in her hair. She looked up into the grinning face of Number Two. He yanked on her hair, dragging her off of the car, but she brought her legs up over her head and locked her knees around the vamp's neck. She twisted until she heard bones crack, then flipped him forward. He flew over the car and landed in a heap on the other side. Buffy sat up and slid off of the car, and limped over to stake him.

 

She stood up and looked over at Spike. He was brushing Roy's remains off of his clothes. He started towards her, but stopped when he noticed the remaining vamp. Buffy noticed him too. He looked back and forth from her to Spike, then turned around and took off running. Buffy was about to tell Spike to let him go, but he was already hot on the vamp's heels. She sighed and did her best to chase after them.

 

She made it about fifty yards from the car before she decided to just sit down and wait for Spike. Her ankle hurt like a bitch. She could make out the back of his head, almost silver in the moonlight, as he tackled his prey. Then they both disappeared behind a boulder. Buffy sighed, and took in her surroundings. She leaned back on her elbows so she could look up at the stars. Last time she'd seen them shine so bright was when --

 

She sat up straight, struck by a sudden sense of deja vu. When Giles had brought her out here on her vision quest -- that was the last time she'd seen the stars look like this. She looked around again. No way this could be the same place. Yet it felt so familiar. The memory of what had been revealed to her that night caused her to shudder. Death is your gift, her guide had said. Buffy leaned back again, and pouted. "Indian giver."

 

She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but she couldn't block out the First Slayer's words.

 

Love ... give ... forgive. Risk the pain.

 

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "Except for recurring guest shots in my visions, you got to keep your gift." She opened her eyes to see Spike trudging back towards her through the sand. "You get him?"

 

"Yeh. He, uh ..." He looked back the way he'd come, then looked back at her and shrugged. "He's dust."

 

"Sounds exciting."

 

"Oh, it was. You should've seen it." He squinted down at her. "Why didn't you? You okay?"

 

"Yeah." She took his extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. "Just -- ow!"

 

"You're hurt."

 

"Sprained my ankle." She waved a dismissive hand. "It'll be fine."

 

He looked skeptical. "Can you walk on it?" She nodded, and took a step towards the car to prove it. Pain exploded through her entire lower leg, and she stumbled. Spike caught her before she fell. "I'd call that a 'no'. Here." He wrapped an arm around her waist and bent to put his other arm behind her knees.

 

Buffy hopped back a step. "What are you doing?"

 

"What's it look like? I'm gonna carry you to the car."

 

"I don't need you to carry me. I said I'm fine."

 

Spike sighed, stood up, and held his hands in the air as he backed away from her. "Suit yourself, Pet. You want to limp back, be my guest."

 

She nodded, then took another step forward. "Aah!" Her ankle buckled and she went down on one knee. "Spike ..."

 

"Oh, for --" He cut himself off as he stooped down and swept her up into his arms.

 

"Spike --"

 

"Shut up, Summers."

 

She frowned, and looked towards the car. "I was just gonna say thanks," she said as they reached it.

 

Spike just looked at her. Buffy suddenly became intensely aware of his nearness. Slowly, she turned back to face him. When her eyes locked on his, her heart took off like a jackhammer. She knew he could feel it. She licked her lips and swallowed. It was an unconscious gesture that she became aware of only after the fact. In Spike's arms, her mouth an inch away from his, his shoulders flexing beneath her arm, adrenaline from the fight still coursing through her veins ... it was a very bad place to be.

 

Actually, it was a very good place to be. Hence the problem.

 

His eyes drifted down to her mouth. Without thinking, she parted her lips. His eyes met hers again, and without a word, he set her on her feet. With one arm still around her waist to support her, never taking his eyes away from hers, he opened her car door.

 

"You're welcome," he said softly, then helped her inside and shut the door.


	3. Chapter 3

The closest place still open at this hour was a roadside saloon called The Hairy Spider, a dark, dingy hole-in-the-wall whose patronage generally wore lots of leather and preferred transportation of the two-wheeled variety. Buffy wrinkled her nose as they entered, but Spike felt right at home. Then again, there weren't many places Spike didn't feel at home. He helped her to a somewhat isolated booth at the back and sat her down. Then he shrugged out of his coat, rolled it up, and gently slid it under her ankle.

 

"I'll just be a minute," he said, and went to the bar. "I need a pitcher of ice and a clean towel," he told the bartender. "And, uh, I don't s'pose you keep any Ace bandages back there?" It wasn't something he'd expect to find at the Bronze, or even Willy's, but he figured this place saw its fair share of brawls. A good bartender liked to be prepared.

 

The barkeep leaned over the counter to ogle Buffy. "What, you and your girl get into an argument, you had to put her in her place?" His tone was conspiratorial and understanding. Bleeding git.

 

"No." Spike matched his tone. "Some other bloke tried to, and she cracked her foot on his face." He looked over at Buffy. "Looks to be sprained pretty bad, but ..." He looked back at the bartender and smiled. "At least she won't be drinking all of her meals through a straw from now on. Other fellow can't say the same."

 

That shut him up. Averting his eyes from Buffy, the bartender gathered up everything Spike asked for, including the bandages.

 

"Oh, and a bottle of Maker's and two glasses."

 

"We got Jim Beam."

 

Spike sighed. "Fine. Got any food?"

 

"Grill's closed. We got chips and salsa. Except we're out of salsa."

 

"Chips, then." Spike took out his wallet and dropped a couple of bills on the counter. "Bring it over there, will you?" He picked up the ice and bandages, then noticed the bloke eyeing Buffy nervously. "Relax, mate. Just move real slow don't make eye contact, and she won't strike." Spike winked at him, then started back to the table. "Oh." He turned back. "Where's the nearest place to crash?"

 

The bartender nodded his head toward the east. "There's a motel about a mile on down the road."

 

Spike nodded, and returned to the table. He set the stuff down, lifted Buffy's leg, and eased her boot off of her foot.

 

"Stupid boots," she grumped. "Not a good fashion choice for Tarantino-style desert showdowns."

 

"That wasn't Tarantino-style." Spike picked up his coat and tossed it into the other seat, then took its place, resting her foot in his lap. "No guns." He spread out the towel and poured some ice into the middle of it, then gathered it up and pressed it to her swollen ankle. "There now. Better?"

 

"Mmm hmm."

 

The bartender brought their order over. He kept his eyes lowered, almost spilling the chips in his hurry to get away. Buffy frowned as she reached for one. "What's his deal?"

 

Spike shrugged. "'Spect he's shy." He opened the bottle and poured them both a shot of bourbon. "Here." He shoved her glass in front of her. "That'll help numb the pain."

 

Buffy bit into her tortilla chip, grimaced, and dropped it on the table. Then she bypassed her glass and went straight for the bottle. She took a big, long swig, following it up with that face she always made when she drank hard liquor. Spike grinned as he tossed back his own drink. Buffy leaned back against the wall, settling the bottle in her lap, and watched him tend to her ankle.

 

"Why do you do that?"

 

"Do what, Love?"

 

She didn't answer right away, just sat and watched as his thumb absently stroked her instep. "Take care of me," she said at last. "Or try to, at least."

 

"You know why."

 

"Yeah." She took another drink, and shuddered. "But ... why?"

Spike looked at her.

 

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the booth. "Why do you ..."

 

"Love you?"

 

She nodded.

 

Spike considered this, and reached for the bandage. "You'd know if you ever listened to me." He unrolled it and began wrapping her ankle.

 

"What, that I make you feel alive?"

 

He glanced at her.

 

"See? I do so listen. I just don't get -- I mean, is it an adrenaline thing? The thrill of being around somebody who could kill you?"

 

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Is that what it is for you?"

 

"No!" She sighed, and took another drink. "I just -- I'm trying to understand. It's not like I've given you a whole lot of encouragement in this department."

 

"You really don't get it." He shook his head a little, then reached for her glass and drained it. He set it back on the table, careful and deliberate, lining it up with his own glass. "It's hard to put into words. Not without sounding like some bloody awful poet, at least."

 

"Huh?"

 

He waved his hand and shook his head. "Nothing. It's just ... when I'm with you, it's like ... like everything stops. And there's this bubble around us, and outside is the world, your friends, my past ... everything that says I shouldn't love you." Was that a tremor in his voice? Bloody hell, this was worse than when he sang to her. At least then he had the excuse of being under a spell. "And I feel like I can't breathe, like I've forgotten how, and I start to panic 'cause I also forget that I don't need to. And sometimes I think I can practically feel my heart beat." Jesus. He might as well get himself a pair of spectacles and start letting his hair go all poufy. "And all of the reasons I know we shouldn't be together become utterly meaningless, and I start to think I'd trade all of my memories of the sun for just one smile from you. And it's peaceful, and passionate, and everything's new. Like I'm new. Like I just might have it in me to be a man, y'know?"

 

He looked at her, but she was intent on inspecting the bottle.

 

Spike sighed. "Guess you don't. Anyway. It's not that you make me feel alive, Buffy. It's that you make me feel human." He went back to wrapping her foot. "All ... vulnerable, and poetic, and caring about things I have no business caring about, and I should hate it, but I don't. In fact I can't get enough of it." He shook his head. "I told you once that I never really felt alive until I got killed. Truth is, I didn't know what living was. Until you. There." He secured her bandage and looked at her. "All done."

 

"That is so sweet." She had her elbow on the table, her head propped against her fist, and there was a sleepy slur to her speech. The bottle of Jim Beam was half empty.

 

Spike took it from her. "Not that you'll remember any of it when you wake up next. C'mon. Let's go turn in, get you to bed."

 

She smiled and leaned forward, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Now you're talking." She ran a hand over his chest, caressing him through his tee-shirt. "Bed good. Spike pretty."

 

"Buffy drunk."

 

"Am not."

 

"Right." He stood up and helped her to her feet. He held her till she was steady, then let go. She wobbled backwards and fell back into the seat. "'Course you're not."

 

"Maybe a little."

 

He nodded. "Time to go sleep it off."

 

He helped her back up and out to the car. It only took a minute to find the motel, then another ten or so to check in.

 

"I want a tattoo," Buffy said when he went back to the car to retrieve her.

 

"What?"

 

"There's a tattoo parlor over there." She pointed across the highway. "It's open all night. Come on! Let's go get some."

 

"Sorry, no. When you're going to live forever the word 'permanent' takes on a whole new meaning. 'Sides, I think they have rules against doing it when you're drunk."

 

She pouted as he helped her to her feet. "Angel has a tattoo."

 

"Yeh, well. Reason number two why I'll never have one."

 

She leaned on him and let him help her limp towards their room. "It's a stupid tattoo, though. I could never figure out what it's supposed to be."

 

"I don't think they had that rule when he got his. Now quit dawdling. Sun's coming up."

 

She stopped. "My ankle hurts. Carry me." Spike rolled his eyes and picked her up. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck. "Where are we, anyway? This looks like the Bates Motel."

 

"What's the matter, Slayer? Afraid Norman Bates might get you in the shower?"

 

"Pfft. I could totally take that psycho." She giggled. "Psycho." Her fingers petted the hair at the nape of his neck, and she sucked his earlobe into her mouth.

 

Spike drew in a sharp breath. "Um, Buffy ..."

 

She suckled the skin just under his ear and began working her way down his neck, taking her own sweet time as she went. Spike closed his eyes and leaned against the building. If she didn't stop he might have to take her right there. Or let her take him, as things seemed to be going. He opened his eyes again and saw that the sky was beginning to lighten. He shoved himself off of the wall and continued on. Their room was just a couple doors down.

 

"Love, if you want me to keep carrying you you'll have to work the key. It's in my pocket." Her hand slid down his back and over his hip, then slipped under his coat and into the front pocket of his jeans, her fingers digging around, searching. It was getting a result, but not the one he was looking for. "Coat pocket, Love. Please hurry."

 

She stopped nuzzling him so she could see what she was doing as she fished his keys out of his coat. She held them up, dangling in front of his face.

 

"Lovely," Spike said, "but those are my car keys. Try again."

 

Buffy frowned and reached forward to dig in his other pocket. This time she found the right key. Spike held her steady as she unlocked the door. It took several tries, but eventually she got it open. He carried her inside and set her on the bed. As he turned to shut the door, she grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him to her, sliding it off of his shoulders. Arms snaked around him from behind, hands roving over his chest and stomach as her teeth nibbled at the base of his neck. Spike closed his eyes and moaned, leaning back into her embrace.

 

"Buffy," he whispered.

 

Her fingers snuck beneath his waistband and grabbed the hem of his tee-shirt, pulling it free and working their way underneath. "Buffy," he moaned as her hands caressed and molded to his bare skin. Then, "Buffy, stop." He couldn't believe he just said that. Even so, he grabbed her wrists when she failed to comply, and twisted around to face her. She struggled to pull free, but he held firm.

 

"What are you doing?" she asked.

 

"This isn't why I brought you out here."

 

She jerked her arms out of his grasp. "Then why did you?"

 

"To give you a break, and to have some fun. And maybe to get you to talk to me."

 

"I don't want to talk," Buffy said, and reached down to stroke him through his jeans. "And I am having fun."

 

Spike tried to think about undesirable things. Getting knocked on his ass by Harris. Watching Clem get food stuck in the folds of his skin. The ridiculous drunken strip tease that silly bint he'd taken to the wedding had done for him before he'd gotten fed up and vamped out, sending her screaming from his crypt. That last one was actually pretty funny. Spike grabbed Buffy by the shoulders and pushed her away from him. "Buffy ..."

 

She arched an incredulous eyebrow. "Are you saying you don't want me?"

 

"I'm saying I don't want you like this."

 

Buffy got up from the bed. "When did you get so picky?"

 

Spike stood up as well. "Since you said that being with me was killing you. I don't want you sobering up and deciding you hate me all over again."

 

"I don't hate you," she said. "I won't hate you when we're done, either." She reached for him, but he batted her hand away.

 

"Maybe not. How 'bout yourself, then? 'Cause, knowing that I inspire self-loathing is such a turn-on."

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Come on, Spike." She stepped up to him, wincing a little as she put weight on her bad ankle. "I want you. And we both know you want me." She reached for his belt and started undoing the buckle. Spike felt his resolve crumble as she pressed her warm body up against his and kissed the line of his jaw and throat. He sighed, and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "Besides," she mumbled between kisses, "it's not like you'll get another chance. You might as well go with it."

 

That did it. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her towards the door.

 

"Ow! What are you doing?"

 

"Throwing you out."

 

"You -- what?"

 

He pushed her over the threshold. "Ta, Love. See you when we've both cooled off." He shut the door and threw the bolt. With a sigh, he rested his forehead against the door. Then he banged it on the door in frustration.

 

Buffy pounded on the door. "Spike! Let me in!"

 

"No!"

 

"Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?"

 

"Car's unlocked, make yourself at home!"

 

"You son of a ... Spike! Open this door!"

 

"Sorry, can't."

 

"Spike!" More pounding. If she weren't drunk and injured she'd probably kick the door right off its hinges. She sure sounded pissed off enough.

 

He found the remote control and turned on the telly, turned it up as loud as it would go, and flopped on the bed. Her hollering still came through loud and clear. He dug in his pocket for a couple of quarters and plugged them into the Magic Fingers machine on the headboard. Then he lay back and put a pillow over his head, closed his eyes, and tried not to feel like the world's biggest wanker.

 

***

 

Buffy pounded on the door again, and jiggled the knob. "Spike!" Her voice sounded more whiney than demanding. "Come on, Spike! My ankle hurts!"

 

All she could hear from the other side of the door was the television and some kind of motor. He was ignoring her. Bastard. She turned around and slumped against the door. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

 

She shoved her hands in her pockets, and felt something metal in one of them. She pulled her hand out. Keys. Spike's car keys. An evil grin spread across her face.

 

***

 

The bed stopped vibrating. Spike threw off the pillow, turned off the TV, and listened. She'd stopped begging to be let back in. Maybe she was ready to behave. He got up and went to the door, careful of the beam of sunlight coming in through the peephole. He put his ear to the door and listened. No breathing, no heartbeat. Couldn't smell her, either. Maybe she went to sleep in the car, after all.

 

He shrugged and turned back around, ready to turn in himself when he heard a car start up, followed by the screeching of tires and the crunching of metal and the tinkling of broken glass. Spike went to the window and yanked the shade open. Sunlight scorched him and he shut it just as quickly. Carefully this time, he edged open the blind and peeked out.

 

"Oh, balls," he muttered at the sight of his car lurching out of the parking lot and onto the highway, a tail light smashed and wires hanging out of the hole left in its place. He looked around for a blanket, but she was already too far. No way he could chase her down in the daylight, not in the middle of the desert. In frustration he tried to kick the nightstand over, but as it was bolted down he only succeeded in smashing the drawer.

 

There was nothing he could do now but wait for her to come back. If she came back. Spike went back to the bed and fell across it on his stomach, pulled the pillow back over his head, and hoped like hell that he hadn't just been ditched.


	4. Chapter 4

A vague sense of horror settled over Buffy as she stared at the car. She really didn't know if some of the dents and scrapes had always been there, or if some were the result of last night's accident, or if she had put them all there. She folded her arms and chewed on her bottom lip as she circled the car again. The missing taillight -- that was hers. She remembered backing into a pole as she'd left the motel that morning. The big dent in the passenger door she didn't remember seeing before, but she couldn't say where it came from. How the green paint got on the front bumper was anybody's guess.

 

Buffy sighed and rubbed her aching forehead, then she got in the car and started it. What the hell had she been thinking? No, she corrected herself as she gazed down in disgust at the bandage covering her left shoulder -- what the hell had she been drinking? She supposed she could blame this all on Spike for serving her alcohol in the first place. He knew she was a lousy drunk. But she couldn't even accuse him of getting her drunk so he could seduce her. As much as she wished for that particular memory to be fuzzy, she knew full well that she'd thrown herself at him. Again. And he'd said no. What the hell was that all about? All that stuff about how she makes him feel his heart beat and ... something about the sun smiling, and then he said no? Not that she didn't appreciate it. But he locked her out! So she couldn't bring herself to feel too bad about taking off in his car. She just wished she was returning it in as good a shape as she'd found it.

 

The sun had set by the time she pulled into the motel parking lot. If she parked at a certain angle away from the lights, maybe he wouldn't notice the damage.

 

As she approached their room she saw that the door stood ajar. She knocked lightly and pushed it open. "Spike?"

 

A maid straightened up from making the bed and looked at her in surprise.

 

"Oh, sorry," Buffy said. She started to back out, then stopped. "Um, the guy that was in this room -- blond guy, probably really cranky -- do you know if he checked out?"

 

The maid shook her head. "No hablo Ingles."

 

Buffy nodded. "Thanks anyway." She left the room and headed to the office. "Excuse me," she said to the desk clerk as she entered.

 

The clerk looked annoyed at having to put down his comic book. "Single or double?"

 

"Actually, I was wondering if you've seen the guy I was here with. Bleached hair, about yea tall ..." She held her hand several inches above her head.

 

The clerk nodded. "Black leather coat?"

 

"Yeah." Buffy smiled. "That's him."

 

He nodded again, and picked up his comic. "He checked out."

 

Buffy felt her smile fade. "He did?"

 

"About ten minutes ago."

 

"Did he happen to maybe mention where he was going?"

 

The clerk thought a minute. "Said he was having car trouble. He was gonna walk to the Spider to see if he could catch a ride into town."

 

"Thanks." Buffy hurried back to the DeSoto and pointed it towards the bar. She hoped she wasn't too late. What if he'd already gotten a ride, and she had to drive herself home? Never mind that she didn't have a license or that her minimal driving skills were of some serious suck; she didn't have enough gas money to get home. Also, what if Spike couldn't get a ride all the way there? What if they put him out in the middle of the desert, and he got stranded, with no place to hide from the sun? Buffy felt her lip quiver as she stepped on the gas.

 

In less than a minute the bar came into view. Even better, so did Spike. He was walking along the shoulder, shrouded in darkness except for his hair, which gleamed silver in the moonlight. It took on a golden hue as she pulled over behind him and bathed him in the glow of the headlights. Spike turned and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light. It took Buffy a minute to remember how to switch them off.

 

Relief shone on Spike's face at the sight of her, but then his eyes fixed on the bumper. He circled the car, giving the whole thing a once-over before ending up on the driver's side. Buffy felt a tiny pang of nostalgia as he planted his hands on the door and leaned down to look at her; it had been a long time since he'd looked like he really wanted to kill her.

 

"Move over." It was almost a growl.

 

For once, Buffy did as she was told. She tried her best to look contrite as he got in and put the car in gear. Without another word, he pulled back onto the highway and turned the car around. She didn't know how many miles they'd gone, with him staring straight ahead, a scowl on his face and a muscle dancing along his jaw, but by the time they crossed the state line Buffy couldn't take the silence any more.

 

"Are you planning to be this broody for the rest of the trip?"

 

Spike didn't say anything, just looked at the road. Then, "I don't brood. I'm having a well-earned sulk. There's a difference."

 

"Does it help if I say I'm sorry about the car?"

 

"No."

 

Buffy sighed. "Look, I'll figure out a way to help pay for it --"

 

"I don't care about the car, Slayer." He glanced at her, then shook his head in irritation. "Does it even matter to you that I spent the whole day out of my mind with worry?"

 

Buffy stared at him for a moment. "Of course it does." Then her shoulders stiffened. "But maybe you should've thought of that before you locked me out."

 

"Wouldn't've done that if you could've remembered that I'm not your own personal Spike-bot."

 

Buffy softened, and looked down at her hands. "I know." She looked out the window a moment, then back at Spike. "Thanks."

 

He looked at her and arched an eyebrow. "For ...?"

 

"For not taking advantage. Though I have to admit, I'm a little thrown. I mean, I was ready and rarin' to go, and you ... I just thought you still wanted to."

 

"Believe me, Pet. You pull anything like that while you're sober, and all bets are off."

 

She smiled. "I'll remember that."

 

"How's the ankle?"

 

Buffy looked down at her foot, and flexed. "It's still a little tender, but mostly back to normal."

 

Spike nodded. He glanced over at her, then did a double-take at the bandage on her shoulder. He reached over to touch it. "What's this?"

 

Buffy flinched away. "It's nothing. Just a scratch."

 

"That happen in one of your accidents?"

 

"N-- Yeah." Buffy nodded. "Yep, that's how it happened."

 

"Uh huh." Spike's eyes narrowed. "That wouldn't happen to be the sort of 'scratch' you get from a needle, would it?"

 

"No."

 

"You got a tattoo."

 

"Did not."

 

"Come on, let's see it."

 

He reached over to lift the bandage, but Buffy swatted his hand away. "Stop! It's not anything. It's stupid."

 

Spike snickered as he looked back at the road. "I didn't really peg you for the self-mutilation sort."

 

"I'm not." Buffy pouted. "Not sober, anyway. You know, I think someone forgot to tell them about that rule you mentioned."

 

Spike broke into a full-on smile. "Didn't get too far in daddy's car after all, did you?"

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. Could she embarrass herself any more? "I can't believe I even made it across the street. I think I passed out as soon as I parked the car. When I woke up again they were just opening up, so I went in. I was only gonna look."

 

Spike pulled the car off the road and killed it, then turned on the dome light and turned to face her. "Let's see it."

 

"No."

 

"Not going anywhere till you show me."

 

"I could throw you out and take your car again, you know. I had all day to learn how to drive it. The parts where I was awake, at least."

 

"You're not going to strand me in the ruddy desert, Love. Now come on. Give us a look-see."

 

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed. "Fine."

 

She sat still and let him peel away the bandage. "Mm. Not bad. A heart with a stake through it. At least you got something relevant."

 

"It's not a stake," she said quietly.

 

Spike looked at it again, then leaned down to squint at it. He pulled back to gaze at her in astonishment. "Is that a railroad spike?"

 

"I was drunk," she reminded him. Turned out she could embarrass herself more.

 

"'Course you were." His voice trembled a little. He reached over to trace an outline around the heart.

 

A thrill shot through Buffy as his fingertip grazed her skin. She swallowed, hard, and pulled away. "Don't let it go to your head." She fixed the bandage back in place. "All I did was point at a picture in a book."

 

"Right," Spike said in that tone that meant "bullshit." He turned off the light and started the car. "Doesn't mean a thing."

 

"It doesn't," Buffy insisted, but the satisfied look on his face told her he wasn't convinced. Time for a subject change. "I got some brochures."

 

Spike blinked. "What?"

 

"I went to this gas station to clean up." As she spoke she rummaged through her bag and pulled out the brochures. "They had a bunch of touristy stuff. Turns out we're running parallel to the old Route 66."

 

Spike looked back at the road and smiled. "Ah, Route 66. Brings back memories, that does. There was this one time in Albuquerque, right after I nicked this car --"

 

"If you start talking about good times with Drusilla I swear I'll jump out."

 

"Right. Sorry."

 

"Anyway," she said, browsing through one of the pamphlets, "there's not really any cool roadside stuff until you get to -- Ooh! Can we go to the Grand Canyon?"

 

"At night?"

 

"Oh, right." Buffy continued flipping. "Oh, hey. If we make it to Texas, there's the Cadillac Ranch, or ... ooh! The biggest cross in the western hemisphere!"

 

"Yeah," Spike said, "let's go see that. For added fun maybe we can climb on it. You can take pictures of me and my new boiling skin, send it as a postcard to the folks back home. I'm sure Harris'd get a kick out of it."

 

"Party pooper," Buffy grumped. "You got anything against stopping to eat?"

 

"Next town we come to, we'll stop for a bite. How's that?"

 

"That's good," she said, putting her brochures away.

 

***

 

The next "town" consisted of a mammoth truck stop that also contained a McDonald's and a Baskin-Robbins, a couple of motels, a bus station and post office, an old-timey diner and a total of two stop lights. It had taken them another seventy-two miles to get there. By the time they pulled up in front of the diner, Buffy was famished. Spike didn't look so good either. Buffy wondered when he'd last eaten. If he'd packed any blood for the trip, she supposed it was probably in the trunk -- which meant she'd had it with her all day.

 

Both of them looked and felt better after they'd eaten. Spike had charmed the waitress into bringing him his burger a lot more rare than the health department allowed. Buffy had managed not to get queasy from the blood dripping all over his fries long enough to scarf down her entire omelet and two of the pancakes that came with it. Now they sat in companionable silence, Spike smoking, Buffy sipping at her third cup of coffee and taking occasional pokes at her last pancake.

 

Spike's gaze drifted around the diner, taking everything in. He drummed his fingers on the table, tapping out the beat to a song that only he could hear as he fidgeted in his seat. For not the first time, Buffy wondered if a vampire could have ADD. Maybe he could've succeeded better at the whole Big Bad thing if only he'd had some Ritalin.

 

He turned in his seat to look out into the non-smoking part of the diner. "Oi! A Wurlitzer!" He laid his cigarette in the ashtray so he could fish in his pocket. After a moment he came up with a handful of quarters, and stood up. "Any requests, Love?"

 

She looked up at him with a straight face. "Anything by Britney."

 

"Ha bloody ha. Not on my quarter, Slayer."

 

"Then surprise me." She took a sip of her coffee as Spike whirled around and sauntered to the jukebox. Buffy watched, admiring the way his coat draped across his shoulders as he leaned over to study the selection. A whiff of smoke from his unfinished cigarette caught her attention. She picked it up and tapped it on the side of the ashtray, knocking off the long column of ash. Then she held it up and contemplated it for a moment. On impulse, she brought it to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip. It tasted like Spike. She breathed in, inhaling a lungful of smoke and then choking on it. She tossed the cigarette back in the ashtray and sputtered into her hand. She was still coughing and trying to wave the waitress over for some water when Spike returned to the table, carrying a glass, an eyebrow arched in amusement.

 

"You want to try a nip of blood with that, Pet?" He handed her the water.

 

She took it from him and gulped it down, but tried to play it cool just the same. "Already tried that," she said when she could talk again.

 

Spike was lowering himself into the booth, but he froze in mid-air and looked at her. "Really?" He recovered and finished sitting down. "Been helping yourself to my fridge, have you?"

 

She wrinkled her nose. "Ew. No." She shrugged. "It was no big. Dracula dared me."

 

"I see." He picked up the cigarette. "Not one to back down from a dare, are you?" He held her gaze as he deliberately wrapped his lips around the filter. A shiver ran down Buffy's spine. Why didn't smoking look like a disgusting habit when Spike did it?

 

The song coming from the jukebox ended and changed over to something Buffy recognized. Her eyes widened. "Did you pick that?"

 

Spike nodded as he put out the cigarette.

 

"I love this song."

 

"I know." His eyes locked on hers for a moment, then he gave her an embarrassed little smile and looked away. That always got to Buffy more than any of his come-ons or sexual posturing. Those moments when he seemed a little shy, like just being with her overwhelmed him. Those moments, she knew, were real.

 

Buffy looked around. They were the only people in the smoking section. She stood up and held out her hand to him, swaying slightly to the beat of the song.

 

Spike looked up at her, confused. "What do you ..."

 

"I've never danced to this song before." She looked at him expectantly. When he didn't budge, she rolled her eyes. "You gonna make me dance by myself?"

 

In one fluid movement, Spike was out of the booth and she was in his arms, her temple resting against his cheek as they moved to the music. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled so good. At that moment, Buffy could almost believe that there really was a bubble around them, and nothing outside of it mattered. The rules of home didn't apply to them here.

 

As his hands moved down to rest at the small of her back, she tightened her grip around his neck. When the song ended, she pulled back a little to look him in the eye, and the pretense of dancing stopped. Now they just held each other, and she stared up into the steel blue of his eyes.

 

"Buffy ..." His voice and face both filled with trepidation.

 

She let go with one arm and brought a finger to his lips. "I'm sober."

 

He nodded a little. "Well in that case, we--" He couldn't talk anymore, because his lips were covered with hers. As Buffy closed her eyes and opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, she forgot all of the reasons why she'd ever believed she should give this up. Spike's hands wandered up to tangle in her hair, to stroke her face. Finally, he broke off and rested his forehead against hers. Buffy smiled as he panted, struggling to catch breath he'd forgotten he didn't need.

 

"Think we've driven far enough tonight," he said at last.

 

"Motel across the street," Buffy said. "How fast can we get a room?"

 

He bit his bottom lip and winked at her. "Not fast enough." He reluctantly let her go, and went to pay the check.


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy hung her head off the table and gave the motel room an upside-down inspection. She took in the damaged furniture and the hole she'd accidentally kicked in the wall.

 

"We are so screwed," she muttered.

 

From the opposite end of the table, Spike laughed.

 

"I mean the other kind," she clarified. She sat up and glared at him. "How are we gonna pay for this?"

 

"I was thinking we'd leave before they find out. Good luck sending a bill to my crypt."

 

"Spike!"

 

"What?" He heaved a sigh and sat up. "It's not that bad, really," he said, looking around the room. "The bed's still in good shape, seeing as how that's the only surface we've yet to grace with our presence. And this table ..." He pounded on it, and bounced up and down a little. "Nothing wrong there. Place needs some tidying up, is all."

 

Buffy stared at the hole in the wall, unconvinced.

 

"Look, if it means that much to you, I can pay for the damage. You ask me, it'll be worth every penny." He leaned forward to kiss her shoulder.

 

Buffy shrugged him off, and sighed. "What the hell is wrong with us?"

 

Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you're about to tell me."

 

Buffy stared at him for a second, then shook her head. "I just mean, how come we can't have normal sex, like normal people? In a bed, without breaking it? Without breaking each other?"

 

"We're not normal people. And if you were really so keen on normal, you wouldn't keep coming back to a vampire, would you?"

 

Buffy didn't say anything. She drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest.

 

Spike let out a derisive snort and leaned back to regard her with wonder. "Y'know, Slayer, you're probably the only girl on the planet who fantasizes about the missionary position. I bet even Mrs. Finn's bored with that routine by now."

 

Buffy really wanted to hit him, but she didn't want to crack any more plaster. "That's not ..." She clenched and unclenched her fists. "I just mean ..." She shook her head. What the hell did she mean? She looked helplessly at Spike.

 

Realization dawned on his face. "You want us to make love."

 

"No! I mean, I wouldn't put it in exactly those terms, but --"

 

Before she could say more, Spike took her face in his hands and pulled her to him for a kiss. Not the feverish, lusty kind she was used to, but sweet. Soft. He stroked her cheeks with both thumbs as he pulled back to look at her, his eyes searching hers for some kind of answer. Or maybe for the question she couldn't bring herself to ask. Whichever it was, he must've found it, because he got off of the table, scooped her up, and carried her to the bed.

 

He laid her down and stretched out beside her. He brushed her hair out of her face, the tenderness in his statement matching his actions. His blue eyes locked on hers. "Is this what you want?"

 

"What I ..."

 

"Shhh." He brushed her lips with his. "Don't be coy. Normal people don't play games." His voice was raw silk. "Do you want this?"

 

Buffy'd never felt so helpless, so exposed. Not with Spike. As easy as it would be to shove him away and flee to the safety of their pointless bickering, or even a good brawl, she instead felt herself nodding.

 

Spike lowered his head to trail kisses down her neck. His lips lingered on her scar, the place where she'd been bitten by three vampires before him. She tensed. He raised up to look at her. "Say it." He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her lips. "Tell me, Buffy," he whispered. "Tell me what you want."

 

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, leaving herself fully exposed. "Make love to me."

 

He made a happy little choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Buffy opened her eyes and saw that he was looking at her, his face a mixture of joy, awe, and disbelief. Something inside her melted as she realized it was the same statement he'd worn the first time he'd seen her again, the night she returned from the grave.

 

She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand, and made her request again. "Make love to me, William."

 

He caught her hand in his, and pressed her palm to his lips. "As you wish."

 

His fingers entwined with hers as he kissed her wrist, the inside of her arm, the crook of her elbow. Then he released her hand and slid his fingers, feather light, up her arm until they grazed her tattoo. He paused to look at it, stroking it with a softness she wouldn't have believed him capable of, then placed his lips on it in a reverent kiss. A hungrier one followed as his other hand roamed her body, molding to her every curve, pausing here to caress, again there to squeeze, worshipping every inch within its reach.

 

Buffy moaned, but he silenced her with a kiss. She responded with eagerness, wrapping her arms around him. When he pushed her legs apart, she let go, placed her palms on his chest, and pushed him onto his back. He watched her with surprise and curiosity as she crawled on top of him.

 

"We don't want to get too carried away with the normal," she said, sitting up. He grinned, but then his face went slack and his eyes closed as she slid onto him, exquisitely slow, taking all of him in.

 

"Buffy," he whispered. He just lay there for a moment, and Buffy waited while he gathered himself together. Then he opened his eyes and pushed himself up till he was sitting. She gazed into his eyes as she began to move. Slowly at first, then their rhythm increased in urgency. Emotion flooded through her -- feelings she didn't want, that she couldn't let him see. She closed her eyes, and arched backwards until her hair brushed the bed. Spike cradled her in his arms as he bent with her, lowering his head to her breast. Buffy whimpered. Too much ... he'd broken the barrier, gotten under her skin. She gasped as this demon in her arms touched her in ways that none of her souled lovers ever had.

 

They sat back up, her movement frantic, her breath ragged. She had to end this. Spike held on to her tightly, desperately, as though he could sense her slipping away. As the wave crashed over her, he touched his forehead to hers, stroked her hair, and made soothing noises. Then his voice tightened and he couldn't say anything as he threw his head back in rapture. Through it all, he didn't let go.

 

He raised his head and looked at her. She couldn't meet his eyes, just slumped against him and rested her head on his shoulder. She couldn't stop shivering. He kept holding her, slightly rocking her back and forth.

 

"I love you, Buffy," he whispered in her ear.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Buffy began to cry.

 

***

 

She slept, and Spike held her.

 

It hadn't taken long for her to cry herself out. Then she'd curled up in the bed next to him, her head on his shoulder, and fallen asleep. Spike could see a glow around the edges of the thick curtains that told him the sun was up. His eyelids felt heavy, but he fought to stay awake.

 

He never got to hold her. Not like this.

 

Chances were, he'd never get to again. He wanted to savor it, to burn the sensation into his memory. Maybe, though ... just maybe he would get another chance for this. Something happened this time, he was sure of it. But then, he'd been sure before, only to have her deny it. It wasn't as though he could trust his judgment where she was concerned. He wanted her so badly ...

 

It was possible he'd just imagined it all of those other times. But he hadn't imagined this. That she was in his arms now instead of pretending like she was alone in the bed was all the evidence he needed. She could no longer deny what was between them, could no longer deny him.

 

But if she did?

 

Spike shifted onto his side. She let out a contented sigh and buried her face against his chest. He felt himself losing the battle against sleep as he focused on the lullaby rhythm of her breathing and heartbeat, the way her body warmed his just like it warmed the blanket that covered them. To be that close to her, and not have her ...

 

But at that moment, he did have her. All of her. He couldn't go back to the way it was before. She'd said that she was using him, that it was killing her. But what was killing her, what was killing them both, was her refusal to confess the thing that shone so clearly in her eyes in her most unguarded moments. He didn't need to hear it as much as she needed to say it, even if she only ever said it to herself.

 

He couldn't allow them to fall back into their old patterns. Not after tonight. When they both woke up again, things would be different. Whatever it took, things had to change.

 

Before they really did kill each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy frowned at the empty bed. Hands on hips, she looked around the room. His clothes were gone, too. She went to the window to peek out into the parking lot, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the DeSoto. Buffy shook her head at her own paranoia as she rummaged through the suitcase Dawn had packed for her. After tossing her towel aside, she got dressed, then took her makeup bag to the sink. She unwrapped the towel on her head and started to go back for her hairdryer, but decided to let it air dry instead.

 

She did her makeup on autopilot, her mind occupied with wondering where the hell Spike had gone. The sun hadn't been down for long, and all of the blankets were accounted for, so he couldn't have gone far. Probably just out for a smoke. She paused to give her reflection a wry smile. He probably wasn't any more up to evening-after conversation than she was. On the one hand, she felt relieved to not have to talk to him just yet. On the other ... he wasn't around to irritate her, to say something idiotic that would distract her from the memory of last night, make her forget how it felt to fall asleep and then wake up in his arms. One pro for the vampire column -- no circulation to cut off.

 

A hand appeared beside her, wrapped around a Styrofoam cup. Buffy jumped.

 

"Brought you some coffee," Spike said.

 

Buffy looked at him. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

 

He looked surprised. "Sorry, Pet. Didn't think I could sneak up on you."

 

She sighed, and watched the cup float in the mirror for a moment before taking it out of his hand. "Thanks." She took off the lid and set the coffee aside to cool. "Guess I was a little preoccupied."

 

"Lot of that going around."

 

Buffy faced the mirror so she wouldn't have to look at him. "We should head back tonight."

 

Spike made a noncommital noise. She glanced at him. He leaned against the dresser, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyebrows drawn together as he contemplated a worn patch of carpet.

 

She turned back around and leaned in to apply her mascara. "It'll take us, what, two days to get home? I should call before we leave, make sure somebody's there with Dawn." She shook her head as she dipped the wand back in the tube, then started on her other eye. "I need to start thinking up a good explanation for work. Somehow I don't think they'll buy the kidnapping excuse."

 

"We don't have to go back."

 

Buffy sighed, closed up the mascara, and threw it in the bag. "Spike ..."

 

"I mean, yeah. We'll go back and get kid sis. But who says we have to stay?"

 

"Um, Social Services, Dawn's school, my job, the Hellmouth ..."

 

As she spoke, his arms crept around her waist and he nuzzeled her neck. "Haven't been any real big nasties since you got back. Nothing your friends couldn't handle."

 

"With what? Xander's nailgun?"

 

"They'd manage." He lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. Her resolve began to fade. "We could go anywhere you want, just the three of us. Anywhere in the world, for as long as you want." As seductive as his voice sounded in her ear, she also heard a tinge of desperation. "Doesn't have to be forever."

 

He had a point. Buffy closed her eyes and for the moment just enjoyed the feel of his hands on her body. This was the farthest away from home she'd ever been, the closest she'd come to a real vacation since she was a kid. Would it really hurt to let him show her just a little bit of the world? Just for a little while?

 

She opened her eyes and took in her rapt countenance. It shocked her, how happy she looked at the prospect of running away with Spike. She wondered how it compared to the look she'd worn right before she'd dived off that tower. Her resolve returned. She pulled his hands away. "I can't."

 

"Why not?"

 

She picked up her coffee and turned to face him, holding it in front of her like a shield. "Warren --"

 

"Is human, Slayer. Not in your job description, last time I checked."

 

"He murdered his girlfriend. And set me up to take the fall!"

 

"And you were all too eager to take it!" He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "Look, it was just an idea. Just ... forget it." He walked toward the window and righted a chair that had toppled over the night before. Then he plopped down and swung a leg over the arm.

 

Buffy ran a finger around the rim of her cup. "I wish I could." Spike looked at her, surprised. "I just ... you saw what happened the last time the Hellmouth went too long without a Slayer. I can't risk that again." He nodded, then pulled the curtain back and stared out the window. Buffy sipped her coffee as she turned to pack her things.

 

"So," Spike said after a long silence, "what's gonna happen when we get back?"

 

She shrugged. "I'll go to work and convince them not to fire me. Shouldn't be too hard with all the blackmail fodder I've got against them. Not that I'd actually use it."

 

Spike stood up. "I meant, what's gonna happen with us?"

 

"Oh." Buffy grabbed a shirt out of her suitcase and began refolding it.

 

"Well? What's it gonna be? We a couple now? You gonna go home and tell your friends about us? Or will it be, 'Sorry, William. It's been fun, but I can't use you right now. Go wait in your crypt like a good vibrator until I get another itch.'"

 

Buffy shook the shirt out and folded it again, making careful, deliberate creases. She'd let him have that one. She deserved it. After a deep breath, she looked at him. "Spike, last night --"

 

"Don't." He held up a warning finger. His eyes were furious and pleading at the same time. "Don't you dare tell me that didn't mean anything to you."

 

"Last night ... is a really nice memory, Spike. Please don't make me think of it as a mistake."

 

She'd never heard him laugh quite so bitterly. "A mistake," he muttered. "The only mistake was bringing you out here instead of hightailing it out of town like I should've done long ago." He paced the space of floor between window and bed. "No," he amended, "my first mistake was ever setting foot in bleeding Sunnydale to begin with!"

 

Buffy laid her shirt in the suitcase and smoothed it out. "You really feel that way?"

 

"What do you care?"

 

That stung. She fought to keep her voice steady. "I care, Spike. For whatever it's worth."

 

Spike practically flew over the bed to stand next to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Tell me you love me." Only the pleading this time.

 

She gently removed his hands, squeezing his wrists just hard enough to remind him that she was stronger. "Don't do this. I told you, I can't --"

 

"You can't?" He jerked his wrists out of her grip. "What's that mean, Slayer? Can't work up the feeling, or can't let yourself?" He sneered at her. "Won't is more like it." He turned around and stalked back across the room.

 

Buffy's fists clenched. Why was he doing this? This was worse than that first morning when they'd woken up in the rubble. Why did he always have to ... She saw her coffee sitting on the end of the dresser. She grabbed it and threw it at him. Most of it spilled as it flew across the room. The cup barely tapped him on the back of the head, but it got the point across. Spike turned and stared at her, eyes narrowed, as he sluiced the remains of the coffee off of his shoulder.

 

"You think you know me so well!" Buffy gave up trying to be the calm and rational one. "You're always giving me these speeches about what I need, what's best for me. And I'm sick of it! But you know what? You're right. I won't. I won't get involved with you, Spike."

 

Spike pointed at the bed. "You don't call this involved?"

 

"This--" she repeated his gesture, "-- has been fun. But it's over. Time to get back to real life. And real life doesn't include you."

 

He gawked at her for a moment. She could tell she'd hurt him. She didn't want to, but God, it was like trying to free a wild animal that didn't want to be cut loose. If she hurt him enough times maybe he'd get it through that bleach-soaked brain that he shouldn't be with her.

 

But then he smiled. A pitying smile. "See, that's where you're wrong, Love. This is reality. Back there," he gestured out the door, but she knew he meant Sunnydale, "it's ... well, it's Egypt."

 

Buffy rolled her eyes, but he didn't stop.

 

"So you go on back to the land of denial." He moved towards her. "Bathe in it. Soak it up. Do the bloody backstroke." He took something from his inside coat pocket and laid it on the dresser. "Maybe someday you'll really convince yourself that we never had anything worth trying for."

 

Buffy went over and picked up a Greyhound ticket. One way from here to Sunnydale, with an exchange in Los Angeles. Departure time in less than an hour. "What is this?"

 

"This is where we part ways. You go home, have yourself a nice, long life, without any Spike around to muddy things up for you. Or, be miserable until the next big nasty comes along and puts you out of your misery. I'll pretend you're doing the former."

 

Buffy checked the envelope again. One ticket. "What about you?"

 

Spike shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. Tell Dawn ... just tell her I'll write."

 

She looked up at him as all of this sunk in. "You ... you're leaving ..." She almost said "me," but the word died on her lips.

 

"Already left, Pet. Just not going back."

 

"Not now ..."

 

"Not ever."

 

Buffy shook her head. "But you ..." You don't leave. No matter what. Not even when I try to make you.

 

"You think I want to?" How could be so calm all of a sudden? "You think I ever wanted any of this?" He shook his head. "I have to go somewhere, clear my head. Cut my losses and move on. Figure out a way to stop ..." He swallowed, and put his hand over his heart. "A way to not feel this anymore. Because this," he gestured back and forth between them, "is killing me."

 

Buffy stared at him, stunned. "So that's it? Here's a bus ticket, have a nice life?"

 

He sighed. "It doesn't have to be." He returned her stare, the pleading back in his eyes.

 

She looked away from him.

 

Spike nodded. "Figured as much. Get your things, I'll drive you to the station." He turned and walked out the door.

 

***

 

He drove her to the Greyhound station and saw her onto the bus. Neither of them said a word -- not even goodbye. Soon, the bus would pull away and take her home, and he would get in his car and drive out of her life forever.

 

Xander would be happy with the news. Willow would probably be indifferent -- disappointed to lose such a useful resource, but not heartbroken to see him go. Dawn would be, though, and would probably blame Buffy.

 

And she'd be right. Buffy was getting left again, and for once, it really was all her fault.

 

But it was for the best. She would go back to Sunnydale, and have nothing to do with vampires anymore except to slay them. Just as it should be, as it always should have been. Things would be so much less complicated. For both of them. He'd get over her, eventually. Hell, he'd gotten over Drusilla. He'd be fine. So would she. Without him around, she could finally find something normal and healthy to fill up the hole inside her, to make her feel like coming back from the dead was worth her while.

 

If she kept staring at the seat in front of her, refusing to look out the window, to acknowledge his presence, then maybe she could convince herself that all of that was true. But she allowed her gaze to drift back to where he stood watching the bus. He looked so lost. She could see his heart breaking right before her eyes.

 

Buffy faced front. So, what? After five years of not being able to get him out of her life, he gets to decide that it's over? Just like that? One last fuck 'n' fight, and that's the end of the Buffy and Spike story?

 

"This is so stupid." Buffy stood up. "Sorry," she told the old lady next to her as she stepped over her into the aisle. The driver boarded as she pulled her bag out from overhead. He took his seat and reached for the door lever. "Wait!" Buffy started for the front of the bus.

 

"You'll have to take your seat, Miss," he said. "It's time to pull out."

 

"I'm not going," she said as she passed him. "Sorry." She got off the bus and stood back. The bus started up, and she tried to ignore the romantic movie music that ran through her brain, the way her heart sped up when she thought of the look he'd have on his face when the bus pulled away and revealed her standing there. As the bus did just that, she realized she was holding her breath. She let it out in an irritated sigh when she saw that he had his back to her.

 

Rolling her eyes, Buffy shouldered her bag and walked toward him. As she drew closer she could hear a stream of curses punctuated with the sounds of him pounding on his car. She reached him just as he gave it a good kick. "Bitch!" he shouted, and reared back to kick it again.

 

"You wanna say that to my face?"

 

He almost fell on his ass as he spun around to face her, but he wound up slumped against the car, staring at her. *That* was the look she'd expected to see. She glanced down at his bloody hand. "God, Spike." She reached out and gently took it in hers, holding it up to examine the damage. "What the hell did you do that for?"

 

He pulled it away from her as he got to his feet, and grimaced as he shoved both hands in his pockets. "Missed your bus."

 

Buffy glanced back at where the bus had been, and shrugged. "Guess you'll have to take me home."

 

"Why should I?"

 

Buffy let out a single, humorless laugh and focused for a moment on the bugs swarming around the streetlight behind him. Of course he was going to make this difficult. "How about, because you're the one who brought me here, and you're responsible for getting me home?"

 

"I paid your bus fare," Spike said. "I did my part. This was supposed to be goodbye. You want me to take you home? Then tell me." He got down in her face, his eyes boring into hers as he carefully enunciated each word. "Why ... should ... I?"

 

Buffy felt her lip tremble and the sting behind her eyes as tears began to well up. She looked away. She would not cry in front of him. Not again.

 

They stood like that for a moment. Then she heard him sigh, and he brushed past her, back towards the station.

 

"Where are you going?" she asked.

 

"To get you a new ticket."

 

"Spike --"

 

He stopped, and waited, but whatever she was going to say refused to come out. Without turning around, he said, "Say it, Buffy. For God's sake, just spit it out." His voice sounded raw and tired. "If you want me to stay, Love ... you know the magic words. Say them, and we can both go home."

 

Idiot. Didn't he get it? Didn't he know that the "magic words" never conjured up anything but pain and misery? She could say them ... she could even mean them, and maybe it would be good for a while, but it couldn't last. They were destined to destroy each other. Maybe not in battle, but if she gave in to this, sooner or later their passion would burn them both away until there was nothing left. Funny that their love would be more of a danger to them than the hatred they used to share.

 

Wait a minute ...

 

Spike started walking again, and went to stand in the ticket line. Buffy watched him in a bit of a daze as she replayed her thoughts. He was determined to end this tonight if she wouldn't give him what he needed to continue. Maybe it really was for the best. They could both get out, get the hell away from each other before they did any more damage. Yeah. 'Cause what's happening now isn't bound to leave you both hurting for a good long while, is it, Buff?

 

As he reached the ticket window, she backed up until she hit his car, then deflated against the hood. She buried her face in her hands as a sob escaped.

 

"I do love you."

 

It came out in a whisper, barely audible even to her own ears, but it was as much of a shock to her system as if someone had screamed into her ear. She let out another sob. Then she sucked it up and wiped her eyes, looking up in time to see him coming toward her.

 

His hands were empty.

 

He came to stand in front of her, leaning over her in that intimate way of his, his face at once lit up with hope and clouded by wariness. "Say it again."

 

She stared at him. "How did you ..." Duh. Vampire, stupid. He could hear when she got into trouble on the other side of the cemetery over the noise of his television. Of course he could hear the one thing he'd been waiting over a year for her to say. Even if it was whispered from twenty yards away.

 

He reached up to wipe her cheek with his thumb. "Please, Buffy."

 

"I ..." She swallowed. It was already out, and she couldn't take it back. No place to go but forward. "I love you."

 

She'd had no idea that he had dimples. He'd never smiled that wide in her presence before. She only got to glimpse it for a second before he kissed her, wrapping her in his arms and stroking her hair. He broke off the kiss, and that smile returned. "And again?"

 

Buffy touched a hand to his cheek. "I love you." Every time she said it, it got easier. She matched his smile even as tears of a different kind blurred her vision. "Oh, God, Spike. I love you so much."

 

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed the track of her tears from the top of her cheek to the corner of her mouth, then she turned to catch him in a full kiss. She tasted her tears on his lips. As her other hand reached up to stroke his face, she realized it wasn't only hers she tasted. For some reason, this made her laugh.

 

Spike pulled back and arched an eyebrow. "What?"

 

"Nothing, just ..." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "God, look at us."

 

"Yeh." Spike looked a little sheepish as he ran his palms across his eyes. "We make quite the pair." He dug in his pockets and produced a wrinkled napkin. "Here."

 

"Thanks." She took it and blew her nose. She glanced up and realized he was watching her, still smiling. Embarrassed, she dabbed at her nose and pocketed the napkin.

 

"So," he said, "we officially in love now?"

 

"Looks like."

 

He nodded. "And when we get back to Sunnydale?" His smile wavered just a little, and his voice held a hint of trepidation.

 

Buffy closed the gap that had formed between them and slipped her arms around his waist. She raised up on tiptoe and planted a reassuring kiss on his lips. "We'll tell them. First thing. No more hiding."

 

Spike just looked at her for a minute, his face full of wonder and disbelief. Then, as if to assure himself, he bent down for a longer, lingering kiss.

 

"Right, then," he said at last, and went to open the car door for her. "Let's go home."

 

***

The End


End file.
